


Slowly We Unfurl

by spookywoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-29 08:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: Draco wanted to go to Greece. He would have loved Greece. But the group vacation to Norway doesn’t go quite as expected when Potter falls into an enchanted lake.Or, the one where a little push (into a lake) is all these two oblivious men need.





	Slowly We Unfurl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JGogoboots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/gifts).



> I saw the winter prompt _(Draco and Harry going to a cabin with friends for a winter nature vacation and getting together unexpectedly during it)_ and made a mood board for it, then realised I should've made a mood board for one of your fics. But I thought, "Oh, I can crank out about 3k for a story to go with this." Here we are, almost 14k later. I couldn't hit all your likes/kinks, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :) 
> 
> Thank you to the mods of this lovely exchange! And thank you to my betas: K and E.

 

 

 

## // I will shape myself into your pocket: invisible \\\

 

Draco refills his tea and sits beside the window. The midday light reflects off the snow blanketing the ground, giving the illusion of a warm and airy day. But Draco knows better. He knows the wind howls through the forest, its icy chill inescapable in the open air. Why the others would want to traipse around out there eludes him. He’s content to experience the winter splendor from behind a thick window, with a warm cup of tea in hand, and a good book.  
  
In the quiet of their absence, he relaxes and settles in, claiming his spot on the window seat. The cabin is cozy enough, and he’ll admit the view is picturesque. Large, green trees and striking mountains, it’s quite the winter getaway. He can picture the others out there struggling to hike up through the snow. He brushes off the guilt at having left Blaise to picnic alone with them.  
  
He knows Blaise doesn’t need him, but Slytherins prefer a partner when in the presence of other houses. They can share secret, judgmental looks and revel in the sharp, stinging replies they throw at their companions. Draco wouldn’t want to miss any of Blaise’s witty retorts, but he suspects his friend tones down his cunning when in the company of a certain desirable Herbology Master. Draco begins to doubt Blaise even cares that he’s absent from the outing.  
  
Earlier that morning, Draco rolled over on his thick comforter and asked, “Who goes to Norway and picnics?” He eyed Blaise, dressed for a wintery trek, as he stood tall in the doorway that connected their rooms.  
  
Blaise scowled and pointed to the stack of books on Draco’s nightstand. “Who comes on vacation to read?”  
  
Really, Blaise only had himself to blame, he is—after all—the one who gifted Draco _The Nine Lives of Phaeden Blanchfarx_ for Christmas. It isn’t Draco’s fault the detective series is well-written, suspenseful, and satisfying. He’s already read it in its entirety twice, but he’d never tell Blaise that.  
  
“Come on Draco,” Blaise pleaded.  
  
“I am not interested in hiking to a scenic overlook and freezing my bollocks off.” Draco got up and helped Blaise button his coat. “When you get to the top, Apparate back here and get me.”  
  
Blaise rolled his eyes. They walked into the cabin’s great room. “You know we can’t Apparate in Norway.”  
  
“Oh?” Draco feigned ignorance.  
  
“This is about Potter, isn’t it?”  
  
Draco sighed and looked over Blaise’s shoulder. “They’re leaving without you!”  
  
As Blaise turned, Draco pushed him out the front door and slammed it shut.  
  
“Potter,” he’d muttered. “As if.”  
  
He reads for half an hour, spellbound by the intriguing mystery at his fingertips. With each new readthrough, Draco notices subtle details he’d missed the previous times. But his eyes grow tired of the text, and his gaze wanders from the pages to the treeline outside where a blur of movement catches his eye.  
  
A moment later, Blaise and Weasley stagger forward, a large bundle with wild, raven hair in their arms.  
  
“Potter,” Draco gasps and rushes to the door.  
  
Weasley busts in with his back to the cabin, gripping Potter’s arms and hoisting him against his chest while Blaise follows close behind. With his arms wrapped around Potter’s legs, Blaise sends Draco a look of mild concern. Draco stares at them, shocked, and only realises there’s water pooling on the floor under Potter’s prone form when he steps in it.  
  
“He fell in the lake.” Weasley is panting.    
  
“Pretty sure you pushed him, mate,” Blaise says idly.  
  
“The sofa,” Draco points. He casts an _Impervius_ on the furniture to repel the water as they set Potter down.  
  
Weasley attempts to cast several Warming Charms. “Nothing’s been working.” He kneels down and grabs Potter’s face. “Harry!”  
  
“Unnf,” Potter groans.  
  
Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not one of you read the brochure, did you? ”  
  
Both Blaise and Weasley stay silent and stare down at Potter’s motionless form.  
  
Draco sighs. He and Lovegood had voted for Greece, but the Gryffindors and Blaise had overruled them. Leave it to those fools to forego any sort of research about their destination. Draco’s sure from the expression on Weasley’s face he only looked at the pictures.  
  
“The MagiConservationists charmed the lake to stay at a certain temperature year-round to protect the endangered fauna within.” Weasley turns around, wide-eyed, as Draco adds, “The water is charmed to stay very cold. Unless you know the counter—”  
  
Blaise pushes Weasley aside. “We have to get him out of these wet clothes.” He bends over and unfastens Potter’s boots. “Draco?”  
  
Weasley steps aside and motions Draco forward. A refusal to help would seem suspicious. It’s not as if he has a reason not to help Harry Potter. He wants to help him. He wants...a lot of things, actually, where Potter is concerned.  
  
He gulps and bends down to grip the top of Potter’s coat, shooting Blaise a glare as he pulls down the zipper. Lifting Potter’s head, Draco pushes the coat down and away from his broad, blissful shoulders. Upon removal of the jacket, Draco can barely tear his eyes away from the soaked grey jumper that clings deliciously to Potter’s muscular chest.  
  
“We could try the Disrobe Charm?” he offers, unsure if he can physically remove another item of Potter’s clothes without bursting into flames. He’s filled with guilt that he even feels the least bit aroused in the midst of such an emergency. For Circe’s sake, Potter’s not even conscious!  
  
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Blaise shakes his head. “We don’t know how magic will interact with the charmed lake water.”  
  
Blaise is smirking. Draco begins to panic. He agrees with his best friend but wants to smack him nonetheless. The more he stares at Potter’s chest, the more he regrets the night he and Blaise got pissed, and Draco admitted aloud that he wanks to thoughts of Potter. He knows he shouldn’t do it. Draco knows Potter’s unavailable, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. Only Potter stirs his blood in such a tantalising way. No one else can make Draco peak with just the thought of their brilliant eyes or perfect lips.    
  
And now Blaise would never let him forget it.  
  
“You’re not going to help us?” Draco turns to Weasley.  
  
“You two look like you’ve got it covered,” he says and raises his wand to the fireplace. “I’ll get the fire nice and hot with some Kindling Charms.”  
  
“Perfect.” Draco leans over to Blaise and whispers, “We’re here undressing the Savior, and Weasley’s got his wand ready to set this entire place on fire.”  
  
Blaise smirks. “Is your wand ready?” He eyes Draco and then nods to Potter. “Hurry up, he’s going to catch his death. Did anyone bring any Pepper-Up?”  
  
Draco shakes his head. He grabs Potter’s spectacles, folding them neatly and placing them on the side table. He fingers the bottom of the jumper, takes a breath, and prepares himself. He pulls the grey jumper up and over Potter’s head and casts it aside.  
  
He’s not the least bit surprised that Potter’s bare chest is an exquisite masterpiece. Beneath the collection of soft curls, the tanned skin tells the story of a reckless junior Auror learning to exercise restraint and balance his ego. The scars across his body are like trophies of his successes, some perhaps painful reminders of his failures. Draco can’t help but feel both honored and insecure in the presence of someone so courageous. Draco has his own scars, some by Potter’s hand, but nothing from his past brings him anything but darkness.  
  
Before he was friends with Potter, seeing his success would bring resentment and anguish. But now...Now when Draco sees his success right in front of him in the flesh, his feels quite the opposite, and something entirely inappropriate given Potter’s present situation.  
  
Draco places a hand to Potter’s stomach and shivers at the frigid contact. In his fantasies, their touches would burn him to his core. He blinks and wills any thought of them away, banished to the darker, deeper recesses of his mind. Blaise reaches up and unfastens Potter’s belt.  
  
Draco’s breath hitches in this throat.  
  
Blaise raises an eyebrow and Draco knows he’s holding back, biting his tongue to stop himself from making a lewd remark. So Draco removes his hand from Potter’s chest as the thought of Potter naked makes him more nervous than he’d care to admit. He doesn’t think he can be there when Blaise removes his trousers, so he decides to get Potter some fresh clothes. But when he moves to stand, Potter, stirs and reaches out for him.  
  
“Cold,” he says through rattling teeth. His hand finds Draco’s and brings it back to rest atop his chest.  
  
Endure, Draco thinks.  
  
If he—a former Death Eater—can manage to graduate first in his class at the Paris School of Potions Mastery despite the derision of his classmates and bias of his instructors, then he can endure a few moments of physical contact with the subject of his unrequited sentiments.  
  
Potter’s icy fingers wrap around his own.  
  
“So cold.”  
  
“Even you can’t jump headfirst into an enchanted lake without repercussions.” He smiles at him, and his eyes travel down Potter’s body. Draco remembers that Potter needs clothes. He turns to tell Blaise as much, but his gaze falls to Potter’s naked lower body. Draco shudders and his mouth drops open involuntarily. Potter’s muscular legs are perfectly sculpted masterpieces and the treasure that sits between them…  
  
“Blaise,” Draco clears his throat and tears his gaze away from Potter’s—even when cold—well-endowed cock. It’s practically a plea when he asks, “Please fetch him some fresh clothes? And Weasley, make yourself useful and bring us some tea.”  
  
“Weasley left,” Blaise says.  
  
Draco glances around and fails to spot a single strand of red hair. “He’s left?”  
  
“He said he needed to catch up with the others,” Blaise explains. “I take it you were too distracted to notice? Accio Joggers!” The whirl swooshes down the hall and a pair of dark blue joggers fly into the room. Blaise catches them and tosses them to a stupified Draco. He can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Potter’s best friend left. For what? Scenic views and a well-assembled prosciutto and cheese plate? Draco would know, he put the picnic basket together.  
  
Blaise stands and brushes his hands over his knees. “Harry needs body heat, Draco. Body heat and liquids.”  
  
Draco’s mouth falls open. “Where are you going?”  
  
“I can’t miss the picnic,” Blaise smiles. “You’ve got this handled.”  
  
“People die of hypothermia!” Draco cries at Blaise strides toward the cabin’s front door.  
  
Blaise smirks over his shoulder. “Come now, you wouldn’t let Harry Potter die on your watch.” He rushes out and leaves Draco hovering over Potter, dumbfounded and, frankly, more than a bit aroused.  
  
Draco grips the joggers and turns back to Potter. His serene features are paler than usual, his cheeks lacking in their normal lively color. Draco resolves to get Potter clothed and averts his eyes as he shuffles to the other end of the sofa. After casting a Warming Charm on the joggers, Draco attempts to pull them up over Potter’s legs.  
  
He takes a few deep breaths and tries not to startle as the soft hairs from Potter’s legs tickle his fingers. Draco reaches Potter’s thighs and thinks he might cry. The thick, corded muscles of his quads peek out above his knees, and Draco doesn’t want to think about what they look like in flexed, what power they could give him when he’s—  
  
Getting the waist of the joggers up to the base of Potter’ crotch is a quite a task when he’s not looking, but Draco’s sure if he sees that cock again he’ll pass out. Give it to Potter to have a thick prick, and fuck—Draco was thinking about it again.  
  
He manages to get the joggers on after taking a moment to recite a few potions recipes in his head. He stays busy casting Warming Charms on throw blankets and couch cushions, then makes two cups of tea and puts a Stasis Charm on them should Potter wake. When Draco finally finishes tucking Potter in, he wipes his brow and realises he’s been sweating. Between the blazing fireplace and all the Warming Charms and Potter’s bloody girthy pleasure rod, Draco’s begun to overheat.  
  
“You’ll be the death of me,” Draco says as he clutches the hem of his knitted jumper and stares down at Potter.  
  
Surely, he can leave him alone for a few moments? Draco rises and makes for the hallway, intent on a change of clothes. He doesn’t wait another moment and pulls the jumper over his head, relishing in the relief as his bare skin breathes in the open air of the cabin. He takes one more glance at Potter asleep on the sofa and then heads down the hall.  
  
Once in his room, he rummages through his luggage to find something more suitable for the blistering heat of the main room. He settles on a thin, dark green henley. When he goes to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, he doesn’t expect to see flushed cheeks and swollen lips in the mirror. He can understand the rosy complexion, the heat in the other room is almost unbearable. But his lips? Had he been biting them and not even noticed? He shakes his head.  
  
“Salazar, give me strength.”  


## //  There's an empty space inside my heart where the weeds take root \\\

  
  
He opens the doors to everyone else’s rooms in turn and mutters, “Accio Pepper up!” In the second to last bedroom, someone’s bag finally flaps open, and a small bundle of toiletries flies into Draco’s outstretched hand.  
  
He makes his way back to the great room and takes a tentative glance at the sofa. Potter’s awake and sitting up, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. Draco lingers in the hallway. He licks his lips, clutches the toiletries bag to his chest, and takes a step into the room. Potter’s green eyes flicker to his and the intensity captured in them is the hottest heat source in the room.  
  
“You’re awake,” Draco raises a brow. He takes a few more steps forward and stands next to an oversized armchair.  
  
Potter smiles. “I was awake the entire time. At least, I think I was. I remember most of it.” Draco stares at his lips as he takes a long sip of tea. Potter eyes him curiously. “Come and sit. Have some tea with me.”  
  
The sound of even an innocuous command from Potter’s lips stirs Draco’s blood. For a moment he panics until he remembers how flushed his cheeks already are from the heat. He’s relieved but also mortified that Potter’s words caused such a reaction. Merlin, the slightest commanding tone from the man and Draco’s a blushing, aroused mess. Though, in all honesty, it’s really anything from Potter these days, and he’s turned to a blushing, aroused mess.  
  
Joining him on the sofa, Draco asks, “You’re feeling better, then?”  
  
Potter nods. He leans forward and grabs the other cup of tea on the table and hands it to Draco. Their fingers touch and Draco almost drops the cup. “Oh,” he quickly throws his other hand forward to hold the bottom and accidentally caresses Potter’s wrist.  
  
The contact seems to shock the other man and Potter startles back against the sofa. Draco watches the blanket around his shoulders slide off a few inches. He sees that a healthy color has returned to his skin and all Draco wants to do is to run his tongue over that collarbone and bite down.  
  
Instead, he looks away and takes a sip of tea.  
  
“Still can’t quite get warm,” Potter explains.  
  
“Not sure what else we could’ve done,” Draco frowns. “Our hands were tied with the charmed water.”  
  
He grins at Draco. “You know,” Potter says as he leans forward and sets down his tea. “Muggles often use skin-to-skin contact to reverse hypothermia.”  
  
“Yes, well…” Draco trails off, unable to formulate a coherent thought after the image of his bare skin against Potter’s flashes in his mind. His cock twitches and crosses his legs.  
  
“I’m kidding.” Potter sends him a warm smile. “Maybe I’ve…” His gaze drops to the bag abandoned at Draco’s side. “What have you got there?”  
  
Eager to get the naked images of them both out his head, Draco thrusts the bag into Potter’s lap.  
  
“You’ll be needing this.”  
  
Potter opens the bag and grabs the bottle. He inspects it and eyes Draco with a coy smile.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Hmm...” Potter grins and tosses the bottle to Draco.  
  
He doesn’t recognise the potion brand, so he holds it up and reads the label aloud. “Hortwin’s Handy Happiness Handicraft Lubrica—”  
  
Potter bursts out laughing.  
  
Draco closes his eyes as mortification takes over.  
  
“It’s fine,” Potter soothes, “It’s fine. I knew it was there on top. Look, I’ll take the Pepper-Up now.” He opens his eyes as Potter digs through the bag, pulling out a familiar red bottle which every witch and wizard intimately knows.  
  
“Wait,” Draco stops and tries to remember the room where he’d found the bag. He had already searched Ginny Weasley’s room, he recognised her broom next to the door. “That’s your bag?”  
  
Potter pauses in the middle of uncorking the bottle. He nods.  
  
Draco shakes his head in confusion. “You aren’t rooming with Ginevra?”  
  
“Why would I room with her?”  
  
“Well, you’re together.”  
  
Potter tilts his head to the side and eyes Draco.  
  
“No, we aren’t. Haven’t been for a long time.”  
  
He says it so casually that Draco thinks he might explode at the revelation. Potter puts the bottle to his lips and throws it back, drinking the contents and wincing as the steam begins to come out of his ears. Draco downs the rest of his tea and stands up. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with this new information—new to him, at least. He’s not sure it changes anything except perhaps makes his fantasies a little less objectionable. So what if Potter and the Weaselette were broken up? It didn’t change the facts. It enforces them. Potter will never want Draco the way he wants him, and it’s useless to find hope in the new information.  
  
“Where are you going?” Potter asks, still suffering from a steady line of steam coming out his ears.  
  
“You’re obviously fine now,” Draco says. He walks over to the window and recovers his discarded book. “I was in the middle of something when your friends left you to catch your death.”  
  
“They knew I was in good hands,” Potter smiles. “Is that the third Phaeden Blanchfarx? I love that one.”  
  
Draco turns and eyes Potter suspiciously. “You? Read Phaeden Blanchfarx?”  
  
“They’ve kept me sane on more stakeouts than I can remember.”  
  
His surprise quickly becomes excitement as Draco returns to the sofa and dives into a heated discussion with Potter. They talk about the genius twists of each book, the dysfunctional past of the main character, and the bitter dispute with his old friend that haunts him through the entire series.  
  
“Orion is a fool,” Draco shakes his head. “He refuses to see things from Phaeden’s point of view. It’s his undoing.”  
  
Potter bites his lip. “See, you would think that! But it’s really Phaeden’s inability to forgive Orion that stands in the way of reconciliation.”  
  
Draco scoffs. “Reconciliation? Orion stays on as his assistant. He still saves his life countless times on countless occasions.”  
  
“But they never go back to how things were before.” Harry stands up and heads into the kitchen.  
  
Draco follows. “Before? Before what?”  
  
“Before the first book,” Potter explains.  
  
“How do you know how things were before? It’s never explicitly stated what type of friendship they had.”  
  
Potter fixes his cup of tea and grabs the kettle. “They were obviously fucking.”  
  
“What?” Draco shouts. “No. No way.” He blinks at Potter. “Impossible.”  
  
“Why?” Potter eyes him curiously. “Because Phaeden marries Eritrea in book seven?”  
  
Draco stops and thinks about it.  
  
“I suppose I never pictured their relationship in that way.”  
  
He quickly explores the rather intense moments shared between the two characters: the rivalry, the hostility, the way they would goad and antagonise the other but at the same time save each other from danger. It wasn’t unlike his relationship with Potter, though they’d managed to find a sort of balance. And apart from the occasional moments of uncertainty as an Auror, neither of them were caught in life or death situations.  
  
“That explains a lot,” Potter mutters and takes a sip of tea.  
  
Draco scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Nothing.” Potter shrugs and walks back to the couch. He casts another Warming Charm on his blanket and cozies up beneath it. “Will you read aloud to me?”  
  
The request surprises Draco, but he nods and claims a spot in the armchair across from the couch. As he settles in and picks up where he’d left off earlier, and the room is filled with the sound of his voice and the crackling of the burning fire. Draco gets through four chapters before he looks up to find Potter asleep, the blanket a heap on the floor.  
  
Draco stands and walks over to him, unable to tear his eyes away from the stupidly content and peaceful expression on Potter’s face. Careful not to disturb him, he picks up the blanket and tucks it around his shoulders. A hand darts out and grabs his arm.  
  
Potter offers him a sheepish smile. “Orion never tucked Phaeden in.”  
  
“I am not Orion,” Draco says. Without a thought, he reaches out and squeezes Potter’s shoulder before padding into the kitchen to prepare the bonfire dinner. It’s only after a few minutes of distraction that Draco realises what a comfortable show of affection he’d just bestowed on Potter.  
  
And it’s some minutes after that—as he skewers the kebabs—that he thinks maybe Potter meant to compare Draco to Orion during their discussion.  
  
“Surely not?” Draco whispers as he places the food under Stasis Charms.  
  
If Draco were Orion then that would make Potter—he shakes his head and concentrates on his tasks.  
  
But the thought festers.  
  
The others return close to dark and Draco distracts himself with the food preparations and getting the bonfire ready. Blaise is preoccupied with Longbottom and doesn’t pay Draco much attention. Weasley, Granger, and everyone else escapes to their rooms leaving Thomas and Finnigan to assist Draco with dinner.  
  
“Can’t believe you went to all this trouble,” Finnigan says as he eyes the kebabs and various other dishes.  
  
“I enjoy the work.” Draco uncorks a bottle of red wine and begins pouring himself a glass.  
  
“Still, how you had time to do all this after you—” Thomas swipes a hand over Finnigan’s mouth and cuts him off.  
  
“It’s your vacation too, Malfoy,” Thomas offers. “Let us help.”  
  
They take over and start transferring the plates outside.  
  
“Mind the stasis spells!” Draco calls out as he settles in on the couch and sips his red wine. The fire still blazes strong, and the overwhelming heat embraces him again. He looks around for his book. That’s when he sees it: Potter’s toiletries bag open and sitting on the side table, the lubricant bottle sticking straight up for all to notice.  
  
Draco’s eyes almost fall out of his head as he realises what everyone else must be thinking. Suddenly his innocent afternoon spent reading to Potter feels dirtier than it deserves to.  
  
“If only,” Draco sighs and stands up.  
  
“If only what?”  
  
Potter stands in the entry to the hallway wearing a thick knitted jumper, a healthy color restored to his cheeks.  
  
Draco sighs. “Potter, it’s impolite to sneak up on people in the middle of a conversation.”  
  
“Even when it’s with themselves?” He grins, teasing, and Draco thinks the warmth of it will melt him on the spot. Potter ignores Draco’s silence and walks into the room. He points to his bag. “I came to get this." He eyes Draco. “Might need it later.”  
  
“Why on earth would you?” Draco asks, mind focusing back to their earlier conversation. Potter and Ginevra weren’t together anymore.  
  
Potter’s smile fades. “Well,” he deflates. “You never know, do you?”  
  
Draco eyes him. “No, I suppose not. Things can change in the blink of an eye.”  
  
“They often do,” Potter narrows his eyes. He grabs his bag and walks into the hallway and out of sight. Draco resolves to not watch him as he goes and instead downs the rest of his wine. He’s almost finished the bottle by the time he makes his way outside. Weasley and Granger stand around the bonfire casting various kindling charms.  
  
“Who is grilling the kebabs?” Draco asks.  
  
Granger points to the other side of the circle where Finnigan stands gulping down his beer.  
  
Draco scowls. “Finnigan? You put him in charge of managing fire?”  
  
“You put him in charge,” Weasley says. He stands next to Draco and offers him a warmed butter roll. Draco declines and Weasley immediately raises it to his mouth and takes a large bite. “When you and ‘arry—”  
  
“Ron, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Granger interrupts. She offers Draco a slight smile and then goes back to casting fire charms.  
  
“Where in Salazar’s name is Blaise?” Draco mutters. After another ten minutes pass, he joins Thomas and Finnigan and begrudgingly plays Fire Chess against Thomas.  
  
“This is so barbaric,” Draco sighs as he watches his knight set Thomas’ bishop aflame.  
  
Thomas snorts. “As opposed to regular Wizard’s Chess?”  
  
“I—” but Draco’s interrupted by a series of shouts from the other side of the fire. Weasley and Finnigan can’t decide if the meat is cooked through. Draco rolls his eyes and abandons Thomas and the flaming chess pieces to save the food.  
  
“Honestly, temperature charms are the first thing you learn.” He pushes Weasley out of the way. That’s when Draco sees that Potter has stolen a spot near the edge of grill, smiling at Finnigan and Weasley, he’s shaking his head. When his eyes meet Draco’s across the smoky scene, Potter slowly lifts a bottle of butterbeer to his lips and offers him a sultry look.  
  
Surely not, Draco thinks. He turns to the others.  
  
“You sure know how to handle your meat,” Finnigan chuckles.  
  
Potter chokes on his drink. Draco smirks and begins turning the kebabs. He holds up one of them up. “I assure you, I’m used to handling meat much bigger than this.”    
  
Finnigan raises a brow and glances at Potter. “Are you now…”  
  
“What else can we do to help?” Weasley leans in.  
  
Draco eyes Finnigan with suspicion, cautious not react. “Serving spoon,” he answers and turns to Weasley. “Plates, utensils...for those civilised enough to use them.”  
  
Weasley and Finnigan head inside and Potter sidles up next to Draco. The heat radiating from him is enough to make Draco think he might’ve cast a Warming Charm on himself.  
  
“Use of silverware shouldn’t be how you measure civility,” Potter leans in. Draco can feel his warm breath against his cheek.  
  
“No?” Draco searches Potter’s face and finds a hint of amusement in his upturned lips. He stares a little too long at them and gulps, looking away. “What then?”  
  
“Civility is about respect. Doing the right thing doesn’t always match up with society’s expectations of right and wrong.”  
  
“Hmm,” Draco begins removing the meat from the grill, placing it on the platter. “And what of respect then? Your definitions are subjective, Potter. I find it utterly disrespectful being exposed to Weasley’s chomping teeth and a mouthful of food.”  
  
“But what does it matter if at the end of the day he treats you with respect? Values you as a person? A...friend even?”  
  
“Like he values you as a friend?” Draco laughs. “Pushing you in the lake and then leaving you behind to recover while he galivants up a mountain.”  
  
Potter frowns and furrows his eyebrows. “I wanted to stay at the cabin in the first place. I only went on the hike—look, what are we even talking about?”  
  
Draco turns to him and sighs. “Doesn’t matter, really. In the end, we’ll all be eating kebabs off the skewer, now won’t we?”  
  
He grabs the platter and moves it to the table of food, casting a Stasis Charm. Blaise finally shows up, carrying a bottle of wine in each hand, Ginevra and Longbottom trailing close behind.  
  
“Draco!” Blaise calls out. “Where’s your wine glass?”  
  
Two hours later, they’re all gathered around the fire listening to the wireless and sharing stories from their jobs. Finnigan finishes telling the story of a man who asked him to cast a magnifying charm on the crotch of a pair of trousers from the shop, and Draco can’t help but laugh.  
  
“And I told him,” Finnigan shouts, “the Charm don’t make it look bigger, it just makes it easier for people to see how small ye are!”  
  
“Well?” Blaise asks.  
  
Finnigan downs the rest of his beer. “Well, what?”  
  
“Did he buy the trousers?”  
  
“Of course he did, right after I cast a Magnifying Charm on the rear.”  
  
“Merlin,” Draco ducks his head down to hide how much he laughs. He forgets the evening was supposed to be tiresome with poor company as the wine and conversation flow, and before Draco realises it, he’s having more fun than he’s had in ages.  
  
Though there are a handful of times Potter’s gaze flickers across the fire. When their eyes meet, something subtle and sensual rises up within Draco, so he looks away and concentrates on Longbottom’s current Herbology experiment and removes all thoughts of firelit green eyes from his mind.  
  
Though he has great trouble removing the feelings those eyes inspire.

##    
// all I want is the moon upon a stick, just to see what if, just to see what is \\\  


It’s their third and final day and night at the cabin, and Draco’s not sure he’s ever felt simultaneously so relaxed and horny. He’s had to deal with Blaise’s hookups with Longbottom and Ginevra, and he’s certain everyone—including Potter—is trying to torture him into spontaneous sexual combustion.  
  
Between walking in on and Finnigan sucking Thomas off in the kitchen one morning, to seeing Potter bake brownies and make love to the batter spatula with his tongue, Draco’s cast at least six disillusionment spells on his crotch. He’s starting to think the spells are contributing to his arousal as he wanks in the shower to thoughts of Potter’s tongue licking the underside of his cock.    
  
“Draco, I’m not kidding.” Blaise bursts into the bathroom.  
  
“Fuck’s sake, do you mind?” Draco shouts from the shower.  
  
“You’re coming to the hot springs with us,” Blaise demands.  
  
“Fine,” Draco squeezes his cock. “Fine! Just give me twenty minutes.”  
  
Blaise snorts. “You have ten.”  
  
Draco finishes himself off in record time and dresses quickly. He’s out the door and about to call out for Blaise when he almost runs smack into a thestral at the steps of the cabin. “What—”  
  
The thing is tied to a large sleigh.  
  
Finnegan pops his head out of the carriage. “Oye! Malfoy! Come on!”  
  
It takes about a half an hour for them to climb the lower hillside to the springs at the base of one of the mountains.  
  
“Draco,” Blaise says with a warning tone as he notices Draco staying inside the carriage.  
  
“I told you I’d come, I didn’t say I’d go in.”  
  
“Suit yourself.”  
  
Blaise storms off and joins the others as they discuss how they’re going to divide the five hot springs enclosures between them. Draco notices Potter lagging behind and briefly thinks he might be waiting for him. But that would be ridiculous.  
  
“What are you doing?” Draco asks, stepping into the snow.  
  
Potter shakes his head. “There are five enclosures...one for Ron and Hermione. One for Dean and Seamus. One for Luna, Justin, and Caleb—”  
  
“I’m guessing Blaise will get Longbottom and Ginevra to join him in the other one.”  
  
“That leaves one for us.”  
  
Draco frowns. “You can have it. I’m not so sure I’ll be getting in.”  
  
“We paid for all five,” Potter says, pouting his lower lip out.  
  
Biting his lip, Draco curses his luck. The pout Potter gives him could’ve made the Dark Lord himself turn sides in the war.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
They enter the enclosure and Draco starts to panic. “I don’t have a suit.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Potter says, “I wasn’t going to wear one either.”  
  
Draco turns around to start unbuttoning his shirt. He closes his eyes, unable to stop the string of images he’s savored from the last time Potter was naked in front of him. Draco gulps and disrobes. By the time he gets to his pants, he’s heard the splash of Potter lowering himself into the water.  
  
“Oh, Merlin,” Potter groans and Draco’s cock twitches. Sighing, Potter says, “It feels amazing in here.”  
  
“Does it?”  
  
Draco can hardly breathe as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his pants and tugs them down. He turns and shuffles toward the pool, aching to get under the water and cover his slight arousal.  
  
Potter stares at him, a faint flush spreading from his face and down his neck. The steam must really be affecting him. He breaks his gaze and runs his fingers over the top of the water, saying, “It’s—it feels good—to ahh—” He bites his lip. “You know, I still haven’t felt a normal temperature since Ron push—” he stops. “Since the lake.”    
  
Draco opens his mouth before he really thinks about what he’s saying. “I could think of a few things that would warm you up.” His eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when he realises how sultry his words sounded. “I mean—”  
  
He fumbles for a way to get out of the situation.  
  
“There are many potions I could have administered.” He nervously licks his lips. “Too bad for international potionery laws and ingredient restrictions.” He turns the tables, “Why didn’t you speak up?”  
  
Potter raises his hand and splashes a bit of water toward Draco. “I didn’t want to make a fuss. Besides, I’m sure it’s all in my head.” He smiles, and the warmth in his eyes triggers a familiar ache in Draco’s chest.  
  
“It could be,” Draco tries to stay on point. “You could have Alterniton’s Syndrome or a charm sickness, no one knows what that lake water could have done to you.”  
  
“Draco, I’m fine,” Potter says, and despite the warm, soothing water, Draco’s entire heart freezes at the sound of his name on Potter’s lips. “Really, I actually feel quite normal. It’s just sometimes…” He trails off and just stares at Draco.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Potter blinks, his gaze falling from Draco’s eyes to his lips, to his chest, where his stare lingers on Draco’s Sectumsempra scars. When Draco looks at those scars in the mirror it’s always made him feel a rush of twisted pleasure, the idea that he was marked permanently by Potter. It shouldn’t send a spark of arousal to his cock, but the sight of Potter’s gaze on his own handiwork turns Draco on.

He remembers Potter’s regret, his apologies—all sixteen of them. Some delivered over piles of study materials during eighth year, others slurred over drinks at the Leaky, and then there was the one late night Floo-call when Draco was back from Paris on holiday. Sometimes the thought of Potter’s regret only made Draco burn hotter, even if it was knowing he’d only been in Potter’s head as a mistake.    
  
“Sometimes I think if I had a redo,” Potter almost whispers, “There’s things I would go back and change.”  
  
“That’s an absurd idea,” Draco laughs. “What could you change?”  
  
“I don’t know, there’s lots of people I would save,” he turns his head to the side and stares off at the enclosure walls.  
  
“You saved enough. How many places do you think you could be at once? It was a war, Potter. The lives lost aren’t your responsibility.” Draco doesn’t say the blame falls to the Dark Lord, to the people who pledged service to him and carried out atrocities in his name. He doesn’t say he’s the one who should bear the breadth of the guilt between them.  
  
Potter shakes his head. “Not lives—I mean—yes, I would try to save my—but I meant—” He stares at Draco like he’s dissecting him, piece by piece, pulling the parts of him away that he’d built up to hide the darker, troubled things that had always weighed him down. “I just meant, I might have done things differently. Especially with us.”  
  
Draco rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t let you,” he says. “I like my life.”  
  
“You’re...happy?”  
  
“Of course I’m happy.”  
  
Potter sort of half smiles and focuses on the water between them. “That’s good.”  
  
Draco feels compelled to elaborate. “I have a spectacular job, wonderful friends, and thankfully another six vacation days I can use to bugger off to Greece and forget all about this horrendous snowcasm.”  
  
“It’s not so bad,” Potter laughs, but Draco hears the tick. It’s fake, like half the laughs Potter offers the dull and useless worshipers that try to get his attention.    
  
“You fell in a lake!” Draco counters.  
  
“Yeah, but I got to spend an afternoon talking to you about Phaeden Blanchfarx.” Potter smiles sheepishly. “No one will talk with me about those books. No one else really gets it.”  
  
“That’s because none of your friends have any taste.”  
  
Potter launches into a defense of his friends, which leads to his passionate support for Ron’s Quidditch prowess. Draco practically dies inside when they start arguing about the Appleby Arrows’ last season, and while Potter knows his Quidditch statistics, he can’t analyze them for all the money in his Gringotts vault. His gift was always raw ability on the field and a talent for putting together a good team and motivating them, never strategy and analysis of the other teams' weaknesses. Maybe that was the difference between the Gryffindor and Slytherin approaches to the game.

  
“You’re delusional,” Draco waves his hand at Potter. It’s the other man’s last ditch effort to defend Oliver Wood’s Arrows with some obscure fact. “But I’d expect nothing less from you.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Potter almost looks hurt.  
  
Draco rolls his eyes. “It means you’re obsessed with hopeless cases.”  
  
Potter’s pout turns into a smirk. “Is that so?”  
  
“I could list all those useless charities you let yourself get talked into supporting, not to mention the people you take under your wing, the donations, the parties, the children’s events, but we’d be here all day.” Draco can’t hide the slight hint of admiration in his tone which bothers him. It was supposed to be snide. “And don’t get me started on—what are you doing?” Draco stops as Potter swims toward him.  
  
“You have something on your face,” Potter focuses on Draco’s lips as he gets closer.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Potter lifts his hand to Draco’s cheek and gently strokes it. The touch is tender and Draco aches. His heart flips and his cock twitches.  
  
“An eyelash, I think.”  
  
“You,” Draco breathes, unbelieving, “saw an eyelash from all the way over there?”

“No,” Potter whispers. He’s staring at Draco’s lips and leaning forward.

Draco splashes water at him, afraid he’ll look down and see his arousal. “What in Merlin’s name are you playing at?”  
  
“I—”  
  
“Hope you’re decent!” Finnigan yells and storms into the enclosure. He eyes them and winks. “Oh come on you two, s’been over an hour. Pack it in. We’re all dressed and ready.”  
  
Potter swims away from Draco and lifts himself out of the pool. Draco tries to avert his eyes but can’t seem to tear them away from Potter’s arse until he casts a drying charm and bends over to pick up his pants. Draco looks away, blushing, and gets out of the hot springs. They remain silent as they dress and Draco makes sure to take as long as humanly possible so he can be alone to cast the Disillusionment Charm on his trousers.  
  
“For fuck’s sake,” he breathes and whispers the spell. At this rate, he needs to learn it wandlessly and silently if he’s ever going to function around Potter again.  
  
By the time he makes it outside, the others are gathering around the sleigh. Potter’s petting the thestral.  
  
Blaise pops in front of Draco’s face. “Well, feel relaxed?”  
  
“Quite,” Draco replies.  
  
Raising his eyebrows, Blaise gives him a lazy smile. “This has been such a fantastic trip.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“You don’t agree?”  
  
“I’ve gotten a lot of reading in,” Draco says.  
  
“Reading,” Blaise repeats. “Draco, what in Salazar’s name is wrong with you?”  
  
Draco scowls.  
  
“I can’t deal with you,” Blaise walks away and hauls himself into the sleigh to sit beside Longbottom.  
  
He ends up sitting beside Lovegood and having a lovely conversation about arctic hobblesnicks and how to properly harvest their horns for the treatment of stomach maladies.  
  
“Don’t they also help alleviate erections?” she raises a brow.  
  
Draco narrows his eyes and stares off into the trees. “That is a lesser known use.”  
  
“Are you not familiar with it?” she asks.  
  
“Why in—no. I’ve not used it for that purpose.”  
  
Luna stares at him, and Draco has to look three separate times to make sure his Disillusionment charm had worked, not that he’s the least bit hard after Luna’s questions and Blaise’s glares. The conversation dwindles, and Draco’s thankful to get back to the cabin where he can throw himself into his room and hide from everyone. He takes a nap and emerges ready for a glass of wine and some lunch.  
  
“Draco,” Longbottom finds him in the living room near the fireplace.  
  
“Neville,” Draco nods, still finding it the slightest bit difficult to call him by his given name.  
  
“I just wanted to ask—did you and Harry get in an argument?”  
  
Draco pales. “No. Why?”  
  
“It’s just that he’s acted so strangely since the hot springs. He says nothing’s wrong but…”    
  
“We didn’t talk about anything important,” Draco lies, his mind reliving each and every moment the two of them were naked together.  
  
Longbottom shrugs. “Oh, alright then. Interested in a game of gobstones?’  
  
Draco agrees to play and grabs a bottle of Riesling to soothe his worried thoughts. Had he done or said something to offend Potter? Turn him off somehow? Was his teasing about the Quidditch stats taken the wrong way? Draco loses to Longbottom and then excuses himself to fix his lunch. He finds Potter sulking in the kitchen, violently spooning cookie dough onto a buttered baking sheet.  
  
“Alright, Potter?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Draco grabs the things for his salad and a cutting board. “Did you have lunch?”  
  
“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m making—”  
  
“You are terrorising those cookies.”

Potter glares at Draco over the top of his glasses.

“What kind are they?” Draco peers down at the bowl of dough.

“Oatmeal raisin.”

Draco smiles, “Your favorite.”

“Yeah, I make them when I’m—wait, what?” Potter’s agitated expression relaxes into one of confusion. “You know my favorite cookie?”

Panicking, Draco fumbles a cover, “Me and every other person who’s picked up a copy of _the Prophet_ or Witch weekly in the last two decades. It’s featured in almost every interview you’ve ever done.”

“Surely not _every_ interview,” Potter laughs. Draco lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. “ _‘Potter defeats the Dark Lord, and his favorite cookies are—’_ ”

“Point,” Draco nods and quickly changes the subject. “Lunch, then?”

“Alright.”

Draco makes their salads and decides to brighten Potter’s mood by talking about the fifth _Phaeden Blanchfarx_ book, _Murder on the Hogwarts Express._ After Potter’s admission at the springs that he’d enjoyed their previous conversation, Draco hopes their discussion will improve his mood—for the sake of the cookies.

They sit down to eat and discuss the plot, the characters etc., but Potter always comes back to Phaeden and Orion’s bond.

“This was the book where I realised they were more than friends,” Potter explains.

“ _Really?_ ” Draco stabs his fork into his salad.  

Potter nods. “Orion is trying to ignore Phaeden, but he can’t help himself. When he sees him struggling with the moral dilemma of the case, Orion has to reach out.” Potter raises a brow. “That scene in the train compartment...always felt incomplete to me. If they hadn’t been interrupted, what would have happened?”

“They were about to have a row. I’d imagine,” Draco says, “They would’ve torn each other to shreds.”

“I think it would have gone in another direction,” Potter smiles, and Draco can’t tear his eyes away from it. There’s something inspired in Potter’s expression as if he’s imagining the scene. His eyes seem to brighten at the thought and Draco’s left breathless.

Draco drops his fork. “And...you would have liked that?”

“I told you, they belong together.” Potter’s stare turns from wistful to compelling. He clenches his jaw and levels Draco with what feels like a challenge.  

“That _is not_ what you said the other day.”  

“Hmm?” Potter starts eating again. “Well, it’s what I meant to say.”

The conversation turns back to the plot of the book for a few minutes until Granger comes in and invites them to join her on an afternoon stroll.

“Stroll?” Draco cries. He eyes Potter as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.  

“That sounds great, ‘mione.”

“Don’t wander too close to the lake,” Draco smirks.

Potter smiles. “Why don’t you come with us and make sure that I don’t?”

Granger agrees, “Yes! Malfoy, you haven’t left the vicinity of the cabin this entire trip.”

Draco protests and cites his visit to the hot springs. “And,” he adds, “unless I’m going to walk out there and suddenly stumble on temple ruins and a corner shop with spanakopita—”  

“You have five minutes to get ready,” Granger smiles and walks back into the great room.  

Draco lets out a heavy sigh and narrows his eyes.

“You can’t say no to her,” Potter says, almost laughing.

“I’ve always been a bit afraid to,” Draco admits.  

“Join the club.”

They bundle up and put their boots on, meeting Granger, Weasley, and Thomas in front of the cabin. Draco follows behind Thomas as the group wanders toward the densely forested area of the valley. The sun is bright and the glittery white snow reflects its brilliance all around them, illuminating the even shadier parts of the forest floor.  

After he casts extra warming charms on his boots and gloves, Draco begins to admire his surroundings. The forest vibrates with magic, from the critters scurrying at their feet to the languid enchanted frostvines that wrap around the trunks of trees to warm them. Draco’s never been surrounded by so many new and different magical species in one place. He’s mesmerised but also disappointed that he only just took the time to experience it on their last day.

 “What’s wrong?” Potter approaches him, concern shrouding his brow.

Draco shakes his head and points around them. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Potter levels him with a stare, eyes green and bright in the shadows of the forest. He turns away. “You should see this,” he says, and motions for Draco to follow him.

They make their way up a slight hill to a large cluster of old trees. Potter leads Draco up to the top of a rocky incline, with a fallen tree bridging the gap over a ravine.

“Oye, Harry!” Thomas calls up from the bottom of the slope. “Where are you going?”

Potter bites his lip and shouts back, “There’s something up here.” Thomas nods and makes his way up to join them. Draco’s curiosity intensifies as Potter takes out his wand and casts disillusionment charms on them. “Come on,” he says and points to the fallen tree.

It’s large enough that Draco doesn’t have to concentrate too hard on balancing, but when he’s about halfway across, he looks down, missteps, and fumbles forward. Firm hands grip his hips from behind and steady him until he can stand up straight and regain his balance. He turns his head and shivers. Potter’s directly behind him, almost pushed up against his back. 

“Thank you,” Draco breathes. He can’t help but savor the feel of Potter’s fingers digging into his hips.

Potter smiles and lets go. Draco swallows down his disappointment at the loss of contact and continues across the tree.  

On the other side, a shift in magic leaves Draco feeling electric. The forest is more vibrant, charged with something beautiful and simultaneously terrifying. Draco can feel it in his blood: Fae.

“This way,” Potter trails his hand over Draco’s shoulder, stepping in front of him to lead the way. A few minutes later and they’re at the edge of a clearing where the veil between the Fae and the mortal world opens.

Draco is captured by the arrays of light and stardust that emanates from the folds in the veil. He watches in rapture as a dozen or so Fae dance and sing in the clearing, their voices blossoming buds of purple and blue flowers, their touch melting the snow.

“This is incredible,” Thomas whispers as he kneels down beside them. Draco’s unable to tear his eyes away as he silently nods in agreement.

They stay there watching for what feels like hours when in reality Draco knows it’s only about half an hour. Potter taps them on the shoulder and guides them back to the main forest path. When Draco makes his way across the fallen tree, he can feel the phantom touch of Potter’s hands on him. The combination of the memory and the electric Fae magic leaving his system gives Draco a subtle, sultry sort of intoxication. He barely remembers the trek back to the cabin he’s so caught up the warm, enchanted daze.

Draco changes his clothes and starts gathering his things. Blaise fixes the final dinner and everyone lingers in the great room, eating and drinking and lamenting the end of their vacation. At some point, Thomas suggests one last bonfire and everyone agrees.

Finnigan levitates the wireless with him as he goes, and suddenly the outdoor bonfire has turned into a dance off.

Draco sits clutching his wine, trying not laugh as Weasley attempts to out boogie Thomas to the Weird Sisters. 

“These hips are fire!” Weasley shouts.

Blaise rolls his eyes, “Someone _please_ put them out.”

The dancing continues as the songs change. People mingle and talk, and Draco ends up watching from his seat, appreciating the happy sounds of laughter and love. He’s only had a handful of moments like this since the end of the war, and he wants to catalogue and savor it.

Potter breaks his reverie and sits down next to him. “You alright? You’ve been quiet ever since the Fae this afternoon.”

“I’m fine,” Draco replies. He tilts his head and decides to ask Potter how he knew about the veil. “It wasn’t in the brochure,” Draco adds.

“Not everything worth looking for is in a brochure,” Potter smiles back at him. “Sometimes...sometimes the things worth finding are buried in the rough.”

“Draco!” Blaise yells and dances up to them. “Come dance with us. I _love_ this song!”

“Blaise, you charlatan,” Draco purses his lips. “You know I don’t dance.”

“ _Won’t_ dance,” he pouts. Blaise glances at Potter and then back to Draco. “Please?” 

Sighing, Draco stands up and takes Blaise’s outstretched hand. “Fine. One song.”

He joins a group of Longbottom, Finnigan, Thomas, Lovegood, and Blaise around the wireless. Blaise grabs Draco’s hip and turns him a bit, setting a rhythm and helping Draco get lost in the beat of the song. He closes his eyes and gives himself over the music. For a moment, he imagines Blaise’s hands on his hips are Potter’s, and they’re dancing together in the Fae clearing on the hillside. Draco opens his eyes and stares off to the other side of the bonfire where Potter sits watching him with wild eyes. Draco melts into the saturated warmth it sparks inside him, and gets losts in the bright, emerald green. Draco bites his lip and looks away, too overwhelmed by the stare. When the song ends, he smiles sheepishly at Blaise.

“Thanks for that,” Draco says. “It felt good.”

“I better get back to—”

“To who?” Draco raises a brow.

Blaise grins. “ _They_ are waiting.”  

Draco rolls his eyes and walks into the cabin, happy that Blaise can manage to bed not one, but two Gryffindors in a matter of days. He’d be satisfied with the one, really. If only such things were possible.

_If only._

 

## //  listen to your heart  \\\

  
  
Draco doesn’t mean to stay in the kitchen working, but he’d been talking to Granger about some new potion laws and had to jot down his ideas. He’d promised himself he’d stay away from work, but the concepts were quite thrilling and, after all, he did have his glass of wine to finish. He takes a sip and then completes his final thoughts.  
  
When he pulls the quill back to admire his work, it brushes across his lips in a feathery light touch. He closes his eyes at the sensation and revels in the tease of it. A gasp sounds from across the room. Draco’s eyes snap open. Potter is staring at him from the other side of the counter, his face flushed.  
  
“Potter, what are you still doing up?”  
  
The other man stares back at Draco, his eyes saturated in lazy contentment. “I was waiting for you to come to bed.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
Draco rolls up his notes and shoves them in his briefcase. When he turns around, Potter’s come to his side of the counter with a look in his eyes that Draco would say is no longer mild satisfaction but heated desire.  
  
“Your lips are stained wine red and I want them all over me,” Potter whispers.  
  
“What?”  
  
Draco can’t think. He can barely breathe. Potter steps closer and all Draco can do is stare at his lips, curled in an upward, predatory grin. Potter’s eyes fall, traveling down the length of Draco’s body, and he can’t help but shiver.  
  
“You’re right,” Potter nods. Draco’s certain he’s never heard Potter’s voice so deep. He’s never heard it come from a place like this. “I should be the one devouring you.”  
  
“Devouring—?”  
  
Finally, it hits Draco. He glances down, unable to stop his gasp when he sees Potter’s erection tenting in his trousers. His memory flashes to Potter earlier that day, naked in the water—then three days before to the sight of him sprawled out on the sofa. Draco pictures his perfect cock and shudders.  
  
“Draco,” Potter steps forward. He rests his palms against the counter on either side of Draco’s hips. He’s close, closer than Draco can ever remember him being. He thinks back to the last few times Potter’s said his name, but he’s sure he never said it like that. No one has ever said it the way Potter just did: like it was a prayer of devotion. A promise.    
  
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Draco breathes. Half of him is screaming _Let him take you against the counter_ , and the other half is begging Draco to be rational about how much Potter may have had to drink, or how much it might hurt him seeing everyone else paired off for the majority of the trip. Or tripled off, if you’re Blaise.  
  
“Why not?” Potter stares at Draco’s lips like they’re his salvation.  
  
Draco gulps. “The others…”  
  
“They already think we’re fucking.”  
  
“They—” Draco stops, his thoughts flooded with Weasley and Finnigan’s remarks. He concedes the point. “So what if they do.”  
  
“Ergo...” Potter leans down and skirts his lips over the sensitive skin just below Draco’s jaw, right over his rapidly pounding pulse. The contact sends a surge of heat straight to Draco’s cock and he holds back a groan. When Potter lifts his head back up and meets Draco’s gaze, Draco can only make out a sliver of green around his pupils. Potter says, “I can’t think of a single reason we shouldn't be fucking. Can you?”    
  
Draco licks his lower lip, trying to steady himself, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate as Potter presses their bodies flush.  
  
“Since when—since when do you use words like _‘ergo’_ ?”  
  
“Since I decided to seduce a pureblood git.” Potter leans in and captures Draco’s lips. Draco thinks he should be numb to the heat of it, but it’s exquisite and intoxicating. Potter’s caught him in one swift action,  and all Draco wants is to get lost in it. He can’t figure out why it feels so perfect, being trapped by Potter’s arms, his lips, his entire being. Potter’s caged him in, and yet, Draco’s never felt freer. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and it’s only a kiss.  
  
“Bedroom,” Potter pulls away.    
  
“Yes,” Draco agrees.  
  
They stumble out of the kitchen and make for the hallway, but Potter can’t keep his hands off Draco’s waist. He doesn’t even realise he’s pushed Potter against the hallway wall and threaded his fingers into his hair until Potter’s moaning while Draco pulls his hair and ravages his tan, exposed throat.  The sounds he’s making go straight to Draco’s cock, and a pleasurable chill races up his spine.  
  
He stops.  
  
“Don’t stop, Draco,” Potter breathes.  
  
“You’re too loud,” Draco hisses.  
  
Potter can barely open his eyes through his lust haze. “Then invite me in.”  
  
“I—”  
  
Draco starts to think about it as Potter’s hands come up and cup his cheeks. “Don’t think about it too much. You want me, I want you. What else is there to it?”  
  
“Everything,” Draco whispers.  
  
Potter leans in and kisses him. “I just want to thank you, Draco.” He trails kisses up Draco’s jaw and then down his neck. He wraps his hands around Draco’s hips and falls to his knees. “You did such a good job taking care of me the other day.” Before Draco registers anything else, Potter’s shoving his face forward and nuzzling Draco’s erection through his trousers. “You were so good, let me take care of you.”  
  
Draco shudders at the words and thinks he might die. Praise from the lips of Harry Potter? He shakes his head and gulps as disappointment hits him and he realizes what’s really happening.  
  
“Is that what this is?” Draco puts his hands on Potter’s shoulders and pushes him away. “You think you have to shove my cock in your mouth as thanks for being a decent human being?”  
  
“No—I thought—” Potter’s eyes widen as he sits back on his heels and looks up at Draco.  
  
“I don’t need your gratitude.”  
  
Potter frowns, his red lips swollen and indecently perfect. Draco hates himself for stopping Potter from wrapping those perfect lips around his cock, even if it would only ever be once, but he can’t let him pity fuck him.  
  
“This isn’t gratitude. I thought we—we’ve been dancing around this for months.”  
  
Draco almost scoffs. “I don’t know what you mean!”  
  
“Your willful ignorance is only sexy when I’m not leaking through my pants,” Potter seethes. He stands and catches Draco’s gaze in a sizzling, intense look, pointing a finger and pressing it into Draco’s chest. “Figure out if you want this.”  
  
“What is _this_ ?” Draco bites his lip and shakes his head. “A hook-up on vacation? A string of sexual encounters until you find someone better, someone worth courting?”  
  
“Draco,” Potter closes his eyes, a pained expression stealing his features. “I’ve been trying to court you.”  
  
“Court me? You just broke things off with Ginevra!”  
  
“That was two years ago!” Harry shouts.  
  
“Be that as it may, this—” Draco turns toward his door. “ _This_ is all very sudden.”  
  
Potter laughs. “It’s been a slow progression since we were fourteen years old!”  
  
Draco stops and stares at him. It’s as if he sees Harry Potter in a new light. Actually—he does...Blaise is in the hallway flashing his lit wand at them.  
  
“Will you two please take your foreplay into a bedroom,” he begs. “And for Merlin’s sake—for all our sakes—please cast a Silencing Charm.”     
  
“Don’t bother,” Harry mutters. He turns pushes past them and heads to his bedroom at the end of the hall.  
  
Draco stares after him feeling as if he’s just been hit with a Stupify. He’s not sure how much time passes before Blaise grabs his arm and nudges him into his bedroom.  
  
“Mate, what are you doing?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Draco blinks.  
  
Blaise stares at the closed door. “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.”  
  
Draco scoffs. “I haven’t been waiting for anything, Blaise. You don’t wait for something you know is never going to happen.”  
  
“It’s happening.”  
  
“No, it’s not.”  
  
“Draco, you are the biggest sodding git I’ve ever known. The man was just on his knees for you.”  
  
“You don’t understand,” Draco shakes his head. “He was just showing his thanks for the lake. For keeping him company while all of you—.”  
  
Blaise laughs. “I’ve done Potter a few favors over at _the Prophet_. He’s never once offered me more than a casual thank you note or a round at the Leaky. For Salazar’s sake, Draco, if he dropped to his knees for me, I’d—”  
  
“Okay!” Draco throws up his hands. “I’m just taken aback by this. Blaise this is—there’s so much built up between us, and the things I’ve imagined! For fuck’s sake, I haven’t wanked to anyone but him in years.”  
  
He blinks and dismisses the other fantasies he’s had—rolling over in bed to be met by bright green eyes and a warm smile, running his fingers through messy raven hair in a casual, relaxing tangle of their bodies while Draco reads _the Prophet_ and Potter reads _Quidditch Quarterly_. Saying I love you and hearing it returned, at the kitchen sink in passing and breathlessly in the throes of making love. Draco shakes his head again. “He doesn’t feel the same way.”  
  
“Clearly,” Blaise crosses his arms, “He’s gone for you as well judging by the fact that despite all your oblivious rejections of his quite obvious advances, he keeps trying. I knew Gryffindors were stubborn but I can’t believe he hasn’t given up by now.  I mean fuck Draco, he must be getting desperate, he had Ron throw him into an enchanted lake just to have an excuse to be alone with you.”  
  
Draco chokes on air. “He what?”  
  
Blaise rolls his eyes. “Draco, you are one of the smartest people I know. How is it that you can’t comprehend this? How can you not see how much he wants you?”  
  
“He doesn’t—”  
  
“For fuck’s sake, if that pyre hadn’t already been on fire, his gaze alone would have set it ablaze. He was half hard all night sitting there staring at you.” Blaise steps close and lightly slaps Draco’s cheek. “Do us all a favor and give the man some relief, yeah?”  
  
Draco is simultaneously comforted and terrified by the ease at which Blaise suggests he sleep with Potter. It must show on his face because Blaise grips his shoulders and flashes him a stern look.  
  
“You don’t need to keep this in your head anymore. The fantasy is never as good as the reality.”  
  
“But the fantasy lasts forever.” Draco closes his eyes.  
  
“You always do this,” Blaise says.  
  
Draco opens his eyes and levels him with a challenging stare. “And what is it that I always do?”  
  
“You want to give up on something before you even start it—anytime it has to do with your heart.” Blaise purses his lips. “It’s the only thing you know you can control.”  
  
“Is that so?” Draco narrows his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, and don’t give me that look, you know I’m right.” Blaise frowns. “You know the moment you sleep with him, you’ll have given up your last bit of control.” He turns around and heads for the door. “But that’s the thing, Draco,” he glances back, his face solemn and thoughtful. “There’s nothing in your wildest dreams that will ever feel as good as giving up control to someone else. When your heart is in their hands, they can touch you in a way you’ve never felt before.”  
  
Draco blinks and looks away, letting Blaise leave the room without another word. He’s sitting on the bed reeling, unable to fully grasp the whirlwind of different emotions storming inside him. He’s terrified, confused, aroused, hopeful, endeared, laughing nervously at the thought of Potter throwing himself into a lake. For him.  
  
“Merlin,” Draco closes his eyes. He’d be daft to let this moment slip away. He takes a deep breath and stands up. He glances at himself in the mirror, runs a hand through his hair, and leaves his room before he can talk himself out of it.  
  
He doesn’t even bother knocking. He opens Potter’s door, turns and closes it slowly, laying his palm against the door as it softly wedges into the frame. He’s desperately trying to manage his breathing, but Draco can’t seem to catch his breath.  
  
“I’ve done some thinking,” he manages to say. His eyes adjust to the dark room and he it feels like an eternity before Potter replies.  
  
“Sickle for your thoughts?”  
  
Draco turns around and eyes the room. Potter’s luggage is shoved in the corner on a chair, his trousers lie discarded on the floor between the door and bed, and he’s sitting up on the mattress. Draco can’t see his face in the darkness. He pulls out his wand and lights the bedside lamp.  
  
If he’s going to do this, he wants to see it. He wants to see Potter’s face when he tells him everything he has to say.  
  
“I think you’re a lunatic,” Draco starts. He takes a tentative step forward. “I think the fact that you want to court a former Death Eater makes you a glutton for punishment.” Potter starts to say something but Draco takes another step forward and cuts him off. “I think your stupid face is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I think I hate you for all the ridiculous, courageous things you’ve ever done. But I think—” Draco closes his eyes. “I think about you all the time—drinking tea, eating noodles, going to the shops.” He opens his eyes and meets Potters stare. “I think about you kissing me, running your hands through my hair,  fucking me senseless against my workbench. I think about your voice—”  
  
Potter stands and rushes to Draco, clutching his face in his hands and crushing their lips together. The pressure is too much, and the heat is searing, but Draco thinks if Harry Potter is fire then all he wants to do is burn. His hands wander down Potter’s sides, lingering over the dip in his hips. When Potter breaks the kiss and leans down to bite Draco’s ear, Draco’s fingers dig into the fabric of Potter’s pants, pulling him against Draco with such force it almost knocks him over.  
  
“Fuck, Draco,” Potter’s breath is hot against the skin of his neck. “I need you in my bed right now.” He runs his hands over Draco’s shoulders, down his chest, only to stop and cup Draco’s hardening cock through his trousers. “And I need these off.”  
  
Draco’s fingers find their way to his flies which he unzips as fast as he can. Potter steps back as Draco drops his trousers, kicking out of them eager to return to Potter's embrace.  
  
“This too,” Potter tugs at Draco’s jumper. They both pull it over his head and hold it between them for a moment. Potter stares at him. “Will you let me touch you?” He pulls the jumper out of Draco’s grasp and tosses it to the side. “Will you let me make you feel good, Draco?”  
  
Nodding his head, Draco steps forward and kisses him softly. “Yes,” he says, followed by a shaky, “Please.”  
  
Potter grabs his hips and pulls him onto the bed. He pushes Draco’s legs and makes him straddle his lap so that Draco’s looking down at him. Hands trace the planes of Draco’s back, mapping him out while a tongue dips forward and licks across his collarbone. Draco balances his arms over Potter’s shoulders, carding his fingers through his soft, untamed hair thinking he could get off with just Potter’s mouth on his skin. He’s relishing in the wet sensations of it when Potter digs his fingers into Draco’s hips and pushes them down to meet his own.  
  
“Holy fuck,” Draco almost screams at the contact. Potter’s cock brushes against his own aching erection, and he’s suddenly desperate for more. For anything. For everything. He clings to Potter’s shoulders and grinds his crotch down again, bathing in the vibrations against his chest as Potter stops kissing his scars to let out a long, deep moan.  
  
“Draco, you feel so good,” he says, and Draco thinks his eyes have gone totally black with desire. “Let me make you feel good.”  
  
Scraping his nails down Draco’s sides, Potter kneads and then cups Draco’s arse, hoisting him up only to throw him down on his back. Draco wants to protest the change of position, but before he can blink, Potter’s mouth finds one of his nipples. He becomes a moaning mess of euphoria, arching up into Potter’s hot mouth. When he starts kissing down Draco’s abdomen, all Draco can do is try to keep his eyes open.  
  
Potter noses Draco’s cock before he spits and puts a hand to it. “I want your cock in my mouth,” he whispers. “Is that alright?”  
  
“Hnng,” Draco replies just as Potter begins massaging his balls. “Do whatever you want, Potter, just put your bloody mouth back on me.”  
  
He can feel Potter smile against his thigh just as the hand lets his cock fall back against his belly. It feels like ages before Potter’s tongue presses against the base of Draco’s cock and licks up the underside of the shaft.  
  
“You like that?” Potter says.  
  
“Fuck, yes.”  
  
The tongue returns, stroking up and down and around his cock until finally, Potter’s lips wrap about the head and he takes Draco into his mouth, all the way down until his nose is pressed against Draco’s pubic bone.  
  
Draco loses sight of what happens next. He only knows he’s never felt anything like it before. When Potter finally comes up for air, he grabs Draco’s face and kisses him hard and fast. Draco can taste himself on Potter’s tongue; it leaves an ache in his chest thinking of the way it got there.  
  
“Your mouth is too fucking perfect,” Draco says.  
  
“I can do so much more,” Potter breathes. “If you’ll let me.”  
  
Draco stares at him, a surge of fear rippling through him. It’s one plunge, he thinks. Once off the cliff and then the fall will overtake him. “I’m yours,” Draco decides. “I want anything you see fit to give me.”  
  
Something flashes in Potter’s eyes and he says, “Turn over.”  
  
A sting of disappointment hits Draco as he realises they’re going to fuck for the first time facing away from each other. But when Potter’s cheek brushes against his arse, Draco realises something else entirely.  
  
Potter’s warm hands cup his arse cheeks and pry them apart. It’s a baptism of fire when the slow drag of Potter’s tongue trails up his taint to his hole.  
  
“Fuck, fuck,” Draco repeats, unable to form a single coherent thought as Potter’s tongue breaches him. “Fuck,” he moans.  
  
He’s clutching the sheets and tearing up the bed, writhing in something he’d never describe as pleasure, but instead blissful agony. He’s desperate for it but knows he’ll never get enough; it’s a teasing dance when Potter’s lips suck and his tongue slides in and out of him. When Potter pauses to spit in his hand, Draco thinks he might die from the loss of his tongue, but then he buries his face in Draco’s arse again, only this time his hand reaches up and starts stroking his achingly hard cock.  
  
The tension pulls at every nerve in his body as everything tightens, waiting for that final moment that would bring him over the edge. “Potter,” he whines, “please.”  
  
The hand around his cock disappears, and Potter pulls away, leaving Draco shivering.  
  
“Really?”  
  
Draco blinks and turns around. Potter’s sat back on his heels with his arms crossed.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes with my tongue up your arse and you can’t even call me by my first name?”  
  
“I—” Draco can’t think. He can’t even remember what he said. He presses a hand to his erection and groans. “I’ll call you whatever you want, I just need you back inside me.”  
  
Potter glares at him but slowly shifts forward.  
  
“What I want—”  
  
He pushes Draco and makes him lie flat on his back.  
  
“—is for you to forget everything in this world—”  
  
He leans down and presses his lips to Draco’s throat, leaving a trail of love marks in his wake.  
  
“—to be so coiled with pleasure that the only thing you can bring yourself to scream—”  
  
Potter pushes a finger in Draco’s entrance.  
  
“ —is my name.”      
  
He summons the bottle of lube under his breath, and after a few moments, pushes in another finger. When he starts pressing in and out, he hits the sweet spot inside Draco.  
  
“Merlin!” Draco shouts. The slightest press against his prostate sends a sizzle up into his core. Everytime Potter moves against it, something builds more and more inside him.  
  
“Wrong answer,” Potter says and removes his fingers.  
  
Draco whines at the loss. He thinks he’s almost the point where he can’t take it anymore. “Fuck, Harry, okay. Harry. Please.”  
  
“Hmm,” Potter leans down and teases a kiss. “That won’t do.”  
  
He mutters the lube spell again followed by a protection charm. “You said I could do whatever I wanted,” he gazes at Draco hopefully, “Is this okay?”  
  
“If you don’t put that beautiful cock in me, I’m going to kill you,” Draco practically shouts.  
  
Potter licks his lips and grins, and Draco’s certain he’s never been able to stop time before but that moment lasts forever. Potter bracing himself with one hand on Draco’s side, the other guiding his cock to his entrance. He’s biting his lip and pressing slowly, tearing his gaze away from it to stare into Draco’s eyes.  
  
Draco lets go of the sheets, lifting his hands to cup Potter’s jaw. “Keep going,” he whispers as the slide of his cock pushes in and passes the point of pleasure or pain, oscillating between the two in the most addictive sensation Draco has ever known.  
  
“Draco,” Potter’s head falls and rests on his chest. “You feel—”  
  
He’s cut off when Draco grabs his hips and pulls him forward, taking him in to the hilt. But Potter doesn’t move, he just stares at Draco.  
  
“Tell me how it feels,” Draco demands. He’s careful to watch every muscle of Potter’s face as Draco slowly tilts his hips and starts grinding on his cock. Potter’s eyes unfocus, his mouth falls open, and that’s all the invitation Draco needs. He wraps his legs around Potter’s waist and flips them over, so he’s straddling him once again. The change of angle pushes Potter’s cock deeper and Draco leans forward and steadies himself on Potter’s chest.  
  
The slightest rock of his hips puts Potter’s cock against his sweet spot and Draco thinks he’s doing to explode. “Fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck!”  
  
He leans back and grasps Potter’s thighs for support as he lifts his hips only to slide back down again. Potter’s fingers sink into Draco’s legs as he watches Draco fuck himself on his cock. Draco feels his stare, feels the kindling of desire between them. He glances down and sees Potter watching Draco’s cock as it bounces against his stomach.  
  
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says and meets Draco’s eyes. Potter’s flushed, biting his lips, eyeing Draco with awe as if he’s some sort of divine being. “I want you to come all over me, Draco. I want—”  
  
Draco throws up a hand, halting the movement of hips to stop himself from coming right then. He wants Potter’s hands on him when he comes. He wants to be consumed in the fire. He's burning alive from it and he doesn't even care. Reaching out for Potter, Draco kisses his outstretched hand before sucking the fingers into his mouth.  
  
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Potter breathes. “Fuck.”  
  
He moans and starts to buck his hips, matching every one of Draco’s movements with more force than before. The shockwaves hit him; Draco knows he’s close. So close. He brings Potters hand to his cock and nods his head. With fingers covered in Draco’s slick, Potter wraps his hand around Draco’s cock and starts pumping.  
  
“You’re so good like this,” he says. “You look perfect riding my cock.”  
  
“It feels—” Draco starts but then Potter shifts and shatters something inside him, and all he can say is “Harry” before he tumbles over the edge and falls. He’s an erratic mess of movements and moaning as Harry pulls on his cock and takes him for everything he has.  
  
  
By the time Draco comes back to the moment, Harry’s pulling out of him and gently flipping them over. He leans down and gives Draco a tender kiss, one hand caressing Draco’s shoulder and the other furiously stroking his own cock.  
  
“Harry,” Draco grabs his face and licks into his mouth. “Harry please,” he whispers. “Come for me.”  
  
Harry squeezes his eyes shut and bites into Draco’s shoulder before coming all over his stomach a few thick, long streams of cum. He buries himself in Draco’s neck and slowly comes down from his orgasm, nipping at the tender skin he’d already marked.  
  
Draco wants to kiss him again, wants to get lost in the feel of his mouth and his wandering hands, but Harry grabs his face, forcing their eyes to meet.  
  
“This isn’t just a fuck,” he says.  
  
“No,” Draco looks away.  “It was something else.”  
  
Harry blinks and rolls off of him. He casts a wandless _Scourgify!_ then kisses Draco’s shoulder. “I’ve wanted you for ages, Draco. Before I even knew what it meant to want. But finally being with you—” he shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I never could have imagined it would be like this.”  
  
Draco eyes him. “You thought about me? And touched yourself?”  
  
“All the time,” Harry explains. “Every time, actually.”  
  
“And what did you imagine?” Draco asks. “I want you to tell me everything.”  
  
The night passes in hushed confessions and tentative touches that turn into loud moans and the rough press of their bodies together. At one point, Draco presses his fingers against Harry’s chest, remembering how cold and pale his skin had been the day he fell in the lake. He’s flushed and panting as Draco jerks him off and holds him down. When his eyes glance up and meet Harry’s, he can’t help the words that tumble out of his mouth.

“I love you,” Draco whispers into Harry’s ear, then bites down on his neck.

Harry comes, jerking his hips and writhing under him, grasping Draco’s shoulders in a bruising grip. When Draco slowly unwraps his fingers from Harry’s softening erection, Harry lifts a hand and caresses the edge of Draco’s jaw.

“I love you, too.”

Draco rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, desperate to hide the swell of emotions he’s feeling. It’s all so much at once, and at the same time, he’s convinced he’ll never get enough of it. He turns his head and looks at Harry. They share a tender moment as Harry’s hand comes up and rests on Draco’s thigh, stroking it lightly, lovingly, almost possessively.

“You know,” Draco straightens and looks back at the ceiling. “If you really loved me, you would have voted for Greece.”

Harry laughs. “I couldn’t implement my plan in Greece.”

“Plan?” Draco smirks.

“Of seduction.”

“This was planned?” Draco shakes with laughter. “The lake?”

“The lake was not part of the plan. But the books were. I knew you would love them and we could talk about them, and maybe, eventually, about us.”

Draco blinks. “You had a lot riding on the chance that I was a Phaeden Blanchfarx fan. You’re lucky Blaise gave them to me for Christmas.”

Harry’s hand stops stroking Draco’s thigh. “Blaise didn’t give you those books. _I did._ ”

“What!” Draco sits up. “Blaise…” He turns to toward the door. “Blaise!”

The door to the room swings open and Ginevra storms in. Draco’s eyes bulge and he thinks it’s finally happening. This is the end, the dream has become a nightmare and he’s about to wake up.

“Blaise is busy right now,” Ginevra frowns. Draco realises she’s completely naked and blushes. She points to both of them on the bed. “But we—all of us in this cabin—would appreciate it if you could cast a Silencing Charm as soon as I leave the room.” She shakes her head and turns around. “I swear to—” she slams the door.    

Harry gathers Draco up in his arms and buries his face in the curve of Draco’s neck.

“You’re not laughing, are you?” Draco asks.  

“No,” Harry smiles against his throat.

“Merlin,” Draco sighs. “Everyone must know.”

Harry bursts into a fit of laughter. “To them, it’s just another day of us fucking.”

Draco licks his lips and turns to gaze into Harry’s eyes. “Just another...one of many more to come?”

“Many,” Harry tilts his head, “Many,” and captures Draco’s lips in a kiss. “More.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title and subtitles taken from "Lotus Flower" by Radiohead


End file.
